


How I Met Your Father

by lil_1337



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Richard Stevenson)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://smallfandomfest.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://smallfandomfest.livejournal.com/"></a><b>smallfandomfest</b> fest 13.</p><p>Prompt: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Richard Stevenson) – Donald/Timmy - Under a tree in Washington Park with a towel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Met Your Father

It was early Saturday morning and I had just crawled in from an all night surveillance. I was tired, cranky and cold so I made a cup of instant coffee before putting myself to bed. Mug in hand I plopped down at the table to drink it. At my place where my plate would normally be I found an envelope addressed to me written in childish scrawl. Surprised and a little confused I opened it to find a single sheet of stationary decorated with flowers and butterflies.

_Dear Donald,_

_How did you and daddy meet? I asked him and he said it didn't matter how just that you did. Mommy and Dale don't know either. Please, Please tell me. It's for school._

_Love and kisses,_

_Erica_

I'm fond of Erica, she's a good kid and like her father she knows all my vulnerable spots and how to push them to get what she wants. The problem was the story wasn't exactly the kind of fairy tale romance that little girls like to hear. Nor did I think her teacher would appreciate it. On the other hand, I'm a firm believer in telling kids the truth because sugarcoating things never works out well. After a couple more minutes of thought I fired up my word processor and got to work.

_Dear Erica,_

_Your daddy can be stubborn like that, get used to it. Let your mommy and Dale read this first because it is long and they can tell you the important parts._

_Love and kisses back,_

_Donald_

I scrolled forward to a new page and then started writing.

_Cruising Washington Park was never one of my favorite ways to make new friends. For one thing it was too well patrolled and for another it was outside. I'd had my fill of outside sex when I was on my southeast Asian vacation. But that night I was bored and restless. All of my usual spots and friends were too much of the same thing and I was craving something different. I'd been to four clubs already and my little soldier was being downright insubordinate in his refuse to stand up and salute for anyone. Disgusted with myself, my dick and the world in general I decided to go home and drink myself into a stupor instead. It wasn't a great plan, but it was mine and I felt a certain comfortable affinity for it._

_On my way home, for reasons I can not explain though Timothy calls it fate, I turned right instead of left and ended up at the park. It was well past dark, but not too late so business as usual was in full swing. I did a couple of turns around the place surveying the potential and still finding no one that was even worth a second look. It was frustrating as hell. I was on the verge of giving up and going home when I saw him. Timothy Callahan. The man who would pick up my socks, nag me to eat my vegetables and share my bed for the rest of my life._

_The towel he carried in his hand caught my eye and held it. In those days things were different. You could be arrested just for being gay. I knew first hand several people who had been locked away in mental hospitals by their families so that they could be “fixed”. Even being open in a place filled with other people like yourself was a risk. Yet there he was, strong, tall and dignified with his towel in plain view; more concerned about ruining the knees of his tailored brooks brothers slacks than having people know who he was or what he wanted. Part of me fell in love with him right then just for having the courage to be himself._

_While I was standing there gaping like a schoolboy with his first crush Timothy strolled closer. There was nothing sneaky or furtive in his movements just caution and a hint of wariness. He'd been burned before, I could see it in the way he held himself, but then we all had. When he asked me if I would like to go for a stroll, code for wander into the bushes so he could blow me, I agreed immediately. We were only a few steps down the path before it hit what had been gnawing at me; the reason I had been so restless and out of sorts instead of adding notches to my belt like usual._

_I stopped him with a touch to his elbow and said that I had changed my mind. I really didn't want to after all. That was a lie, there was just something I wanted more. The look of disappointment he gave me cut right to my heart and even to this day it is the best way to motivate me to do something. I gathered up my nerve and before he could make his excuses and disappear I explained that I would very much like to do _that_ at some point what I really wanted right then was to have a cup of coffee and talk to someone. The smile he gave me was beautiful and it lit up his face like a man who had found rapture._

_We talked for hours over coffee about everything and nothing, just getting to know each other. The restless feeling dissipated the more time we spent together and was completely gone by the time we left the diner. It was one of the best nights of my life. We've been together since through good and bad, sickness and health._

I printed both pages and when I came out of the office Timothy was sitting in my seat reading what I had written. When he looked at me his eyes were unusually bright and shiny.

“You can't send her this. It's much to graphic for a child her age to read. She'll be traumatized and stunted for life.” If his voice was thicker than usual I pretended I didn't notice.

“I left out the part about going back to your place and having sex until the sun came up.”

“Yes you did and I appreciate that.” The dry warmth of humor was back and I gave into the urge to bend over and kiss his bald spot. “I'll just keep this so you won't be tempted to send it.” He tugged the papers out of my hand, folded them with quick efficiency, then stashed them in the pocket of his robe. “I've written something that should be acceptable. It's on the printer.”

Back in the office there was a single sheet of paper sticking out of the printer. It read,

_Dear Erica,_

_We met in Washington Park._

_Love Daddy and Donald_

I mailed that one to her and the other one, wrinkled and dogeared now, is still in Timothy dresser drawer hidden underneath his impeccably folded white boxers next to the old towel he thinks I don't know he keeps there.


End file.
